


The Final Answer, the Ringer, and the Things Kept Too Long

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Series: Apartmentsquad [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic, F/M, M/M, Roommates, Threesome - M/M/M, amateur dentistry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein mostly normal people have mostly normal lives with the mostly normal people they love, and there's something a bit magical about that in itself. Also Momo collects stray roommates, Renji and Shuuhei piss off some old people by being themselves, and Renji and Rukia are the best platonic soul-bros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Final Answer, the Ringer, and the Things Kept Too Long

At first, living with Rukia was sort of like having a cat. She’s independant, used to going by the beat of her own drum, but also a little bit skittish. She seemed legitimately surprised when Momo spotted her wandering into the kitchen and offered her half of the Cherry Garcia ice-cream she picked up earlier as a treat. Rukia blinked at her with dark, owlish eyes and a pouty little frown like Momo is a multiple-choice question on a test and Rukia’s forgotten everything she spent the night studying.

 

Fortunately, Rukia liked cherry, too.

 

In time, Rukia and Momo settled into each other’s space like shadows on the sidewalk, until it just felt natural, and comfortable in its naturalness. Until they’d automatically know something was wrong as soon as it wasn’t there.

 

They didn’t keep a chart of who got to use what or which chores had to be done by who, like Momo has heard lots of roommates do. It seemed unnecessary with just the two of them, and issues about it never seemed to come up. She’s pretty sure at least a good portion of Rukia’s clothes are stuff she borrowed from her, and Momo doesn’t mind when Rukia comes in while she’s watching tv and leans on the edge of the couch, idly enraptured by the screen but unwilling to commit.

 

And so when Rukia blushed and curled the fabric of her long woolen skirt between her fists and asked, oh so eloquently, if her girlfriend could move it with them please please she’s so great it’ll be so great, who was Momo to say no.

 

And Orihime, sweet lamb that she is, was an adventure to live with. She was and is an adorable, compassionate, blessed soul. Really, Momo might have thought once or twice to knock Rukia out of the way and propose to Orihime herself if the two of them weren’t absolutely precious together.

 

The only downside tended to be Orihime’s “cooking”, if she could so loosely use the words. Back when the boys still got high every once in a while, Momo could bring Orihime’s “famous” casseroles or “legendary” quiches over to them as gifts, where it might end up getting eaten when the three of them became too stoned to differentiate between real food and what happened to be in their fridge. But then they took up cigarettes, and got more addicted to nicotine and bad breath than they did to getting stoned, and Momo couldn’t just pass along tupperware full of some sort of chili-like creation to them anymore. So thanks a lot, guys.

 

But Orihime at least always does the dishes afterwards- without being asked, even- so its all good.

 

Personally, Momo considers Rangiku moving in with them to be the absolute best decision ever made, though she might be a teensy bit biased.

 

Rangiku cooks about as well as Orihime does, but forgets to clean up after herself. She doesn’t pretend to be unobtrusive like Rukia does, and always talks when a movie is on. And more than once Momo has come home to find all her ice cream gone even though she only bought the container, like, yesterday.

 

But Rangiku hugs like physical contact is oxygen, as if she knows exactly what it takes to break a person and can hold herself back just barely enough to avoid snapping their bones like matchsticks and cutting their strike-paper skin. And Rangiku has seventeen words and counting to describe what she says it feels like to get to see Momo every day, which range from “Euphoric” to “Hella”. And she tosses her messy bed-head hair and rubs her eyes in the morning and yawns the way big cats yawn, with her lips pulled back over teeth and pink gums, before coming back into a sweet little sleepy scowl.

 

So yeah, it was a good decision. Even if these feelings that came from them, that rose from each choice like bubbles in boiling water, were never decided at all. They’re still good.

 

\--

 

It’s another friday afternoon at the Kira-Hisagi-Abarai household, and there is a lot of yelling going on.

 

Not from Shuuhei, who gnaws on a frozen pizza and observes the spectacle around him. He tries not to the one who gets carried away in these sort of high-strung situations. Izuru and Renji usually take care of that for him more than enough, and God knows someone needs to put his foot down.

 

Or tentatively set his baby toe down in a way that doesn’t produce a lot of noise because he doesn’t want to get in trouble with any of them. That also works.

 

He thinks its a little backwards to watch Renji chase Izuru around the living room, but that might be his imagination. Really, who can keep track of who gets mad at who anymore? So much effort to tally up every single little thing. Especially when it’s more entertaining to watch Izuru spring behind the couch and the coffee table in a blur of blond hair and cable-knit sweater like a hyped-up game of Twink Wackamole. All the while Renji trying to whack him with the broom and shouting “You know they’re gonna blame us for this!”

 

Let’s rewind.

 

So as a general rule one may not be surprised to find that old people typically don’t like Shuuhei and Renji. There are a number of things surrounding this that are probably glaringly obvious, but for now we shall just call them “issues regarding aesthetics”.

 

At first it was just annoying. Shuuhei got yelled at by senior citizens while he was playing his guitar outside. Izuru had to make him wear a band-aid over his tattoo, though he turned down Renji’s suggestion of an eyepatch for the scar. An eyepatch wouldn’t even help, Renji.

Eventually it escalated to the point where, while trying to call the apartment because he forgot his keys inside (there’s a keybowl for a reason, guys) Renji became trapped in the lobby. Izuru opened the door to find Renji being presented to him by a police officer who got a report that a red-haired gangster-looking type was loitering around the building.

 

“Yes, he’s mine.” Izuru sighed, opening the door for Renji to skulk past and settle in for a long spell of pouting.

 

“We’re getting bullied by old people.” Shuuhei muttered from the kitchen, in the middle wiping tortilla dust off on his apron while making quesadillas.

 

-

 

Izuru changed lives the day he said he was going to stand up for Renji and Shuuhei.

 

“This is getting ridiculous. I’m taking this up with a higher power.” Izuru announced. “The Neighborhood Association."

 

-

 

They waited in limbo for Izuru to return. It’s a bit like being on death row, a wait that seems more perpetual than it really is. Renji offered to open up a pack of cards to pass the time and Shuuhei snapped at him, asking how he can think of strip-poker at a time like this before reminding himself that Renji hasn’t suggested that yet.

 

Shuuhei was little distracted just now, in case that wasn’t clear.

 

The door creaked open on it’s hinges and a familiar face of blond fringe poked inside. At the very least, they know the old people haven’t killed Izuru. He doesn’t even seem to be bodily injured from the way he creeps inside the apartment.

 

“How’d it go?” Shuuhei asked, wondering if it’s time to pack their belongings and move yet. So long, Throne of Heavens, its been fun/

 

Izuru simply shrugged, which can either be a really good or really bad sign. “Fine.”

 

“Fine? Just fine?” Renji interjected with outrage. “Does ‘fine’ mean they still think we’re public menaces or what?”

 

“It was fine.” Izuru repeated, like that should answer everything. “I talked to the head of the Neighborhood Association. We had tea. She’s really quite nice. Did you know she has four dogs? We had chat-”

 

A lump dropped down the length of Izuru’s sleeve, slinking down his arm and falling to the floor with a thud.

 

Shuuhei and Renji just stared for a while. Izuru stared too. “… Now how did that get there?”

 

“Please tell me those aren’t dentures.”

 

“Well, I won’t tell you they’re not.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“She was horrible, but her teeth are nice, aren’t they?”

 

\--

 

Renji wakes up to seventy-five pounds of concentrated babywoman hitting his back, right along the spine. It’s to be expected, really. What was he thinking, lying down on his stomach, in bed, in the relatively private sanctuary of his own home? Silly, stupid Renji.

 

“Ohh my god.” Renji groans, flicking one eye open. He takes in a glimpse of sunlight from the open curtains and squeezes it shut again.

 

“Yes, Renji, this is a message from your God.” Rukia announces, setting herself so her bony knees are pressing down right on his shoulder blades. “This is your own personal religious awakening. Rise, my son, and join the Church of Not Being A Colossal Pile of Trash in Bed All Day.”

 

Renji pulls the pillow closest to reaching distance and pulls it over his head, hoping to either muffle out all noise and sound from the outside world or smother himself, whichever is easiest. “How’d you get in here, you filthy harpy?”

 

“Your boyfriend let me in.”

 

“Wow, and here I was thinking it was those pesky door trolls again. I mean which boyfriend?”

 

Rukia rocks her weight forward, digging her knees deeper into his flesh in a way that sends twin flares of slight pain jolting from his shoulders into his neck. “Kira did. He’s not the most social of butterflies, you know? I sort of caught him on his way out and we stood there on either sides of the doorway staring at each other awkwardly. Then he just sort of stepped back, pointed towards the bedroom and went ‘Renji’s in there’ before walking past me and leaving.”

 

“How dare you terrorize my pet blond so early in the morning. He’s a fragile little creep and he musn’t be bothered until-” Renji peeks one glance at the clock on the nightstand from under the pillow. “Ten in the morning. Shit, okay, I’m up.”

 

Renji rolls onto his side, ignoring Rukia’s protesting squawks when she topples off the bed. He has other things to be concerned about. Things like finding pants.

 

 

When it comes time for Renji to pick his own personal Jesus, his confidant, his advice guru and what have you, Rukia is at the top of the list. The list goes 1. Rukia, 2. Jackie, and 3. Rangiku.

 

Renji is aware that his top three most trusted advisors are women. This is because the men in Renji’s life are unreliable and/or usually the ones providing the crises in his life.

 

As the number one positive influence in Renji’s life, Rukia is allowed to do pretty much whatever she wants. Sometimes that involves getting Renji up and out of bed even though they were both working the late shift last night and sitting him down at the kitchen while she rifles through the personal inventory of not just him but also the two people who are under Rukia’s jurisdiction by extension.

 

“What do you want me to make you for breakfast?” Rukia prompts, fumbling with the coffee machine. It’s a horrendously old model that doesn’t strain as well as it used to and Shuuhei has nicknamed it True Grits.

 

Renji yawns, and scowls at his own morning breath. He’s really grody, and he has to brush his teeth before he next sees Izuru and Shuuhei because they owe him a goodbye kiss. He means wait what. “You can’t cook.”

 

“Oh yeah.” Rukia says like she’s forgotten. She invites herself to the pantry and reaches for the cereal box, having to stand on her itty bitty tippy toes to reach the bottom of the box. “Well, not like I could have done a lot in the first place with-” Rukia pauses to absorb the contents of the pantry. “Trail mix, Wonderbread and dry pasta. Wow.”

 

“The economy…” Renji hisses.

 

“If it makes you feel any better, Orihime does the grocery shopping now.” Rukia huffs, pouring cereal into two plastic bowls. She’s very exact in her measurements, weighing the box carefully in her hands. When she finishes, she spends a few seconds moving individual pieces of cereal back and forth between each bowl.

 

Renji smirks in her direction, raising one eyebrow at the cryptic comment. “Trouble in paradise?”

 

Rukia pouts, glaring at him for her entire trip to the refrigerator to get milk. “It’s nothing. I’m just getting used to the new experience of opening the fridge and finding freeze-fried haggis and something called ‘pig’s blood cake’.”

 

“Better than finding it in your food.” He mutters and then gets a pit of cereal flicked at his head.

 

“It’s okay, I’m a vegetarian now. I get a free pass on about half the stuff Orihime cooks, but I still get to see her in a cute apron. And no one’s feelings get hurt.” Rukia says, gesticulating with the milk carton. “It’s a win-win situation.”

 

“Wow. Rukia Kuchiki is bottling up her true feelings instead of being honest and exposing the fact that she may not actually be the most chill, unflappable girlfriend ever. Shock and awe paints the audience’s faces like the shadow of an approaching storm, and they quake in fear as one in the face of this new possibility- You fucking throw cereal at me one more goddamn time-”

 

Rukia sets one of the bowls down in front of Renji. It’s almost full to the brim with milk, and the cereal is practically drowning. No reasonable human being eats breakfast cereal like this. “As far as anyone needs to know, I am the third best girlfriend that has ever existed and will ever exist. The first best girlfriend is Orihime, of course-”

 

“Of course.”

 

“The second best is Hinamori, because I can’t fucking top that. But then there’s me. Now I belong to the angels.”

 

“Okay, sure.”

 

Rukia slurps milk from her bowl, because for all they tried the Kuchiki family never fully pushed the impulse to not be a brat out of her. She sports an impressive milk mustache that’s almost in the shape of a perfect handlebar. “I can’t be in this place until work. We should go out somewhere. We should goof off and pretend for a little while that we’re not adults. That’s what we should do.”

 

“Yeah.” He says. “That sounds good.”

 

And it always is.


End file.
